


A More Regular Arrangement

by MasterMaple



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/M, Qrowin - Freeform, Scratch the suggestive part really, Suggestive Themes, snowbird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 15:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12171495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterMaple/pseuds/MasterMaple
Summary: A continuation of The First and Only Time. Qrow and Winter are starting to get a little more comfortable with each other. Maybe a little too comfortable.





	A More Regular Arrangement

 It’s been about a year since they first shared bacon in Qrow’s kitchen, and Winter wishes it hadn’t gotten this easy. Her eyes open drowsily as she grimaces at the headache throbbing in her skull, and though she knows what to expect by now she still rolls over slightly to check who is sharing the bed with her.

 It’s _him_ , like always, snoring as he lies sprawled across the pillow, the sheets pooling at his waist. He’s always been better at sleeping through the sunrise than her, eyes shut tight to the sunbeams spearing through the blinds, chest rising and falling steadily as he dreams of… something. Probably a dream about living in a distillery with free refills for his flask, or maybe a nightmare where the Kingdoms have enacted worldwide prohibition of alcohol.

 Then she hears him let out a muted _squawk_ , sees his shoulder-muscles twitch ever-so-slightly, and before she can help it a sly grin sneaks its way across her face. She knows he usually dreams of flying.

  _Usually_. That word wipes the grin from her face. By now she has resigned herself to the constant parade of one-night stands with him, but that doesn’t mean she enjoys making any concessions towards the regularity of their arrangement. _Regular_ is complicated. _Regular_ implies questions neither of them want to answer. So, taking a leaf out of her drill sergeant’s book, she follows the unofficial standard procedure for asking awkward questions in the Atlas military: _“Shut the fuck up and get to work, Specialist.”_

 Biting back a groan, she pries herself from the warm, comfortable mattress (now held securely in a reinforced bedframe after an unfortunate incident) and pads over to the kitchenette, gulping down a glass of water that helps to take the edge off of her throbbing temples. Then she heads back to the bedside and begins her morning workout.

 She drops to the floor, gritting her teeth as she makes slightly more noise against the hardwood than she ought to, then tries to lose herself and that loaded _usually_ in the rhythm of pushups, the burning of her muscles still sore from last night, the feeling of the air leaving her lungs as she quietly counts each repetition.

 No luck. The memory has already been called into her brain.

  _She realizes with a start that she is enjoying watching Qrow prop up the bar, waving the glass in his hand in grand, sweeping motions as he tells her this story. As she recalls it she is quick to dismiss it as the alcohol talking, though at this point in the night she had hardly taken a few sips._

_“You gotta understand, Winter.” Qrow says, pounding one hand on the bartop for emphasis. “There’s nothin’ in the world better than flyin’, really flyin’, and whenever I get to do it it never feels like enough time. So yeah, I dream about it.”_

_“What kind of things do you do when you’re having a flying dream?” She asks, retroactively blaming her curiosity on the alcohol even though her first beer of the night sits mostly untouched beside her. He grins roguishly in reply, takes another swig of the ale in his hand._

_“Depends.” He replies. “Sometimes I just dream of buzzing annoying pedestrians, pecking the paint off of Ironwood’s staff car, that sort of thing. If I fall asleep right after shifting back, or if I’ve been flying for a while that day, my dreams are more like an animal’s, stealing food or just shiny stuff. I had a really good one where I was in Petillant- y’know, the jewelry shop- only the store was empty and the display cases were all open.” Winter likes the feeling she gets when he makes her laugh. She likes the smile he gives her while she’s laughing too. “What else?” she prods, only for her excitement to fade as his smile falls slightly. She can tell he’s putting a brave face on it now. “Some days, like when Ruby and Yang were born, or when Tai was having his…moments, I have these weird dreams where I’m human, with my nieces or my old team, but then… Well, for some reason, I can’t explain it, I shift and just start flying further and further away, higher and higher, until I can’t see them, or anybody else, and it feels… Peaceful. Disconnected from everyone.” He looks away from her, but she gets a brief glimpse of the look in his eyes, enough to know that he’s lying, that there is an explanation, that feeling peaceful isn’t a real part of him flying away. Or at least, not the only part of it._

_This is too much for her. She tolerates these meetings because they both have a good time, not because she wants to see him like this, to wonder about who this drunk, brash, rude Huntsman really is, or worse, feel sorry for him. So she steps forward and nudges against him, putting on her best teasing smile. “Well, you’d better not fly away from me now” she says, resting a palm against his chest and stepping in closer, “Because I have plans for us tonight. And you know how serious I get about **those**.”_

 It is with a start that she realizes that she’s lost count of her pushups, has probably gone over the usual number of reps, so she moves to planking, then situps, then crunches, then squats, and by the time she’s done her workout she’s positively famished. Qrow, meanwhile, is somehow still sleeping soundly, drooling onto a pillow that she is now going to have to clean. _Asshole_.

 She gets to her feet and heads back over to the kitchen, feeling the coolness of the tile on the soles of her feet as she grabs another glass of water and checks the fridge: eggs, shredded cheese, tomatoes, spinach and red pepper. She grabs the necessary utensils, turns on the stove and waits for the frying pan to heat up while she lays out cutlery and plates for two without even thinking about it, because at this point she knows Qrow is seemingly incapable of refusing food after a night out. Perhaps if she finishes the omelets before he wakes up, she can even manage to get him to eat some vegetables without him noticing. If she’s going to make out with someone she’d rather they be free of scurvy, thank you very much.

 She still remembers the familiar motions as she whisks the egg yolk and pours it onto the pan, Klein’s hands on her wrists showing her how to crack an egg properly, patient and encouraging even as she’d gone through almost a whole carton by either spilling them on the countertop or burning them in the pan. She had begged him to teach her because she felt bad waking the servants up to cook for her, though in truth it had more to do with irritating her father. It had been the first step on her road to youthful rebellion, though joining the army probably wouldn’t strike most ordinary people as rebellious. Especially Qrow, who delights in ruining her furniture or adding damages to his room charges during their late-night encounters, who makes constant jibes about her boss or her father and seems delighted beyond reason when she lets the mask slip and shows her frustration with her family life or the drudgery of a soldier’s routine.

 And speak of the devil, here he is now, awake and rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stumbles over to the counter and takes a seat. She glances up from the sizzling eggs to see him looking at her expectantly. “Well?” she says, raising an eyebrow as he dramatically rolls his eyes.

 “Good morning to you too, Ice Queen.” He says. Winter just shrugs her shoulders, as understated as he is theatrical. “Oh. You’re up.” She drawls. “I can hardly contain myself.” He just mutters something derogatory under his breath before his eyes fall to the neatly chopped vegetables on the cutting board.

 “You’d better make mine plain this time.” He grumbles. Winter gives him her best unimpressed stare as she grabs the cutting board and dumps the produce into the pan indiscriminately, her eyes widening slightly in mock-concern. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Would you mind speaking more clearly next time?”

 Qrow fixes her with a bleary-eyed look of his own and flips her the bird. Winter just turns back to the pan, frowning as a few stray locks of hair fall across her vision. She tries to get them out of her eyes with a brief puff, then attempts unsuccessfully to flip them over her shoulder when suddenly Qrow is there, neatly tucking her hair behind her ear. Winter lets out a slight _oh_ of surprise, her cheeks flushed slightly with the heat of the stove.

 “Thank you.” She says, though her breath catches as she feels him press against her back, turns her head to find herself just inches away from him, and the words come out as barely a whisper. Qrow, for his part, isn’t looking smug in any way, which is strange for him. Instead he neither smiles nor frowns, just… _looks_ at her with those red eyes of his. “Yeah.” He replies, his voice a little huskier than usual. “You’re very…” he trails off as Winter bites her lip nervously, knowing logically that he is probably going to say _welcome_ but some stupid, juvenile part of her hopes the missing word will be something else. Something more… _Positive_.

 And then his Scroll buzzes.

 A flash of irritation gleams like lightning in those eyes of his and suddenly he is moving away, back to his discarded jeans to fish through the pockets, and Winter is left frozen, staring off into empty space for a moment, doing her best to ignore the goosebumps from where his chest was pressed against her back and trying desperately to blot out the thought of the layer of dark stubble on his chin and the messy tangle of his hair and the deep, red crimson of his eyes, and how she is appreciating these things in more than just the way the stubble scrapes against her thighs or how good it feels to reach down and lace her fingers through his hair to pull him closer, or the way his eyes darken with delight when she moves in just the right way while they’re together. It’s almost a blessing when she notices the omelets are starting to scorch, even more so when Qrow growls out an obscenity in his usual way, letting the air swirl out through gritted teeth and pursed-

 Oh wait, something’s wrong and she should probably find out what it is. She lost her train of thought for a sex- for _a_ _second there._ She turns to see Qrow furiously typing on his Scroll, teeth clenched, the stool tipped back on two legs as he perches his feet up on the counter perilously close to the two omelets she has just plated. She swiftly grabs his ankles, rotating him in his seat as she leans across the counter and places his feet on an empty stool, sliding the omelet which had been sitting closest to them in his direction. “Keep your feet off my counter, please. What’s wrong?”

 Qrow snaps his Scroll shut and lets it _clatter_ onto the counter, nodding his thanks as he digs in. “The _problem_ is that your boss needs to learn what the send button does.” He says. “The whole reason I was in town was to meet with him, and he just called it off this morning because apparently there’s a “matter of state security” scheduled for today, which he apparently only just remembered.”

 It must be something to do with Project P.E.N.N.Y. She knows that, and remembers that her trial run at Sentinel Combat School is scheduled for today, though she is not invited. She also remembers that Qrow is definitely not on the Need-To-Know list, so she does her best to change the subject. “So are you headed to the airport now, or your hotel?” she asks. Qrow just shakes his head. “I booked a redeye flight back tonight since I thought the meeting would go long, and since I was meeting up with you I didn’t bother to book a hotel.”

 That makes Winter raise an eyebrow, slightly irritated at the presumptuousness of his decision, and even more irritated that his assumption proved correct. “Can you book an earlier flight?” she asks, but she knows the answer before he even shakes his head. Both Sentinel and Atlas begin the Fall Break long weekend today, and flights are packed with younger students heading out on holiday with their families and older students returning to their homes in other Kingdoms. Qrow was lucky to get a ticket today at all.

 “S’fine.” He says, through a mouthful of omelet. “I’ll find a bar near the airport or something and just hang out there.” Knowing him, _hang out_ means _drink copiously and do my best to irritate anyone who looks like a stuck-up prick_ , and since _everyone_ in Atlas looks like a stuck-up prick to Qrow he is very likely to wind up either unconscious or kicked out well before his airship departs. Which is fine, it’s not Winter’s problem, but she finds herself mentally checking her schedule anyway and speaks before she can stop herself.

 “Don’t bother. You can stay here for the day.” That little bombshell gets quite the reaction as Qrow’s eyebrows scrunch together and his chewing stops, knife and fork hanging in the air. He is either floored by her unexpected generosity or has found one of the larger chunks of vegetables hidden within the omelet. “Are you… Okay?” he asks, and for some reason that puts Winter’s back up.

 “Oh, excuse me for doing my best from keeping you out of the drunk tank or the gutter for a night. You are in _my_ apartment, and that means it’s _my_ responsibility to keep you from embarrassing yourself and General Ironwood when he has to come bail you out.” She snaps. Qrow jerks his head back, raising his hands in surrender. “Geez, calm _down_ Ice Queen. If you really want me hanging around your place for the whole day, I won’t complain.”

 Winter does her best to calm down and take deep breaths, and finally she starts to make some sense out of the situation. Qrow is staying over. For a whole day, and she thinks even _she_ doesn’t have the stamina to repeat her previous method of killing time. What can she _possibly_ do to distract him?

And then she thinks of the pillow, and like lightning there it is. An idea.

 “Oh, you won’t be lounging around the whole time.” She says, a bit of classic military _don’t-fuck-with-me-or-I’ll-make-your-life-hell_ steel creeping into her voice that makes Qrow sit up and take notice. “Firstly, you need to take a shower and make yourself presentable. Then there are sheets and a pillowcase to launder and dishes to do. Then you can help me get the living area back in order after whatever happened to it last night. And finally, I had no idea I was going to be cooking for two people today, so we’re going to go to the grocery store and find some ingredients to cook with beyond half a bag of shredded cheese and a carton of eggs.” She watches the expression on his face change to one of annoyance, but it gets a lot cheerier when she leans across the counter and lays a hand on his arm. “And if we get all of that done, then I’m sure we can find _other things_ to entertain ourselves with. Alright?”

 Qrow just nods, and after a moment of silence she straightens up and pushes his plate back towards him. “Now eat up. I know that usually the only vegetable in your diet is hops, but it’s just a bit of red pepper, for God’s sake. It won’t kill you. I, on the other hand, will if you don’t finish it.”

 He grumbles something as he digs back into the food, and in spite of herself she smiles as she pops another forkful of omelet into her mouth. She gets free labor and keeps him quiet the whole day? This is a good bargain.

 And though she would never admit it, the prospect of his company is… pleasant.

* * *

 

As it turns out, Qrow is surprisingly good at domestic tasks, having finished with every conceivable chore she could throw at him well before dinner. The only hiccup had been when they’d squabbled in the supermarket over what they would have that night. She’d wanted to make a stir-fry and maybe a salad, he’d wanted tacos. _Tacos,_ for Christ’s sake. Who in their right mind got a craving for Vacuan food in the middle of winter in Atlas?

 He did, apparently, in his infuriatingly childlike manner. Though as Winter bites through the shell and feels the slight heat of the salsa on her tongue, she is forced to admit that perhaps he had a point. He knows it too, grinning smugly at her from where he’s curled up on the other end of the couch.

 Having run out of chores, and with dinner being far simpler to cook when they were just reheating ground beef and opening packages of toppings and taco shells, they’d had to find something to do, and for whatever reason neither of them reached for the obvious solution. Qrow had been absolutely horrified at her lack of board games as he rifled through her cupboards, hoping against hope to find something other than the elegant chess set on her coffee table.

 “How is it that I grew up poor and you grew up owning most of Atlas and somehow _you’re_ the one who had a deprived childhood?” He’d grumbled. “I was not _deprived._ ” She had responded, indignant. “I’ve played board games before. Me and Weiss used to play chess all the time, and I actually got to Candidate Master ranking in the national chess league when I was in the army-“

 “-Name one board game you’ve played more than once that wasn’t chess.” Qrow interjected. “Backgammon.” She had replied, smug in her thwarting of his argument until he fixed her with a downright pitying look. “Oh my God.” He’d said, as if she’d just told him that she’d watched her pet dog die as a child. Winter had told him to shut up and stalked off angrily.

 And now here they were, watching some favorite old movie of Qrow’s about a man who’d come home to Vale after the Great War and formed a gang when he couldn’t find work. Or something. Winter was having a hard time keeping track of the story. “Qrow?” she asked, wanting him to explain what the hell was going on as the protagonist and his friend had a blazing argument over some minor plot point she’d long since forgotten. He didn’t respond.

  _“Qrow.”_ She said, a little more forcefully, but he kept his rapt attention fixed on the screen. She huffed in annoyance, uncurling from her spot on the couch and stretching out so that she lay across his chest. _“Qrow.”_ She whispered, and this time he looked up. “What is it?”

 “I have no idea what they’re arguing about.” She said. Sighing, he reached for the remote and paused the film. “Callahan’s fallen in love with Constable Moira-y’know, the dirty cop?” he said. Winter nodded, thinking back to a now dimly-recalled scene. “Yes, I remember that part now.” She said. Qrow nodded in satisfaction. “Right, so Michael doesn’t like that, he thinks it’ll only end in tears for both of them, and that Callahan needs to focus on the bank job. Callahan thinks he’s just being a prick. Now listen closely, because I know I’m better at following events than you are, but this, right here, is the best scene in the whole movie.”

 “You are _not_. And you say that about _every_ scene.” She grumbles, but she does her best to pay attention solely out of spite. Qrow hits play, and despite herself she gets absorbed by the intensity of the scene as Callahan slams Michael against the bar and pulls a knife. _“So what, I’m supposed to just_ **_forget about her!?”_** he yells. _“I’m doing this because I’m trying to get away from that! I drink until I collapse every other fuckin’ day trying to forget about the people I killed, the friends I lost! I started this thing because when I came home it seemed that all the world wanted to forget about me, about you, about all of us poor boys from the docks, about the things we’d done to others fighting over there and the things they’d done to us, forget about the jobs we’d had at the factory so that some of the bastards we were supposed to be fighting a few months ago could move in and take them , and after all that we’re told to **forget about it! Is that all the world is, struggling and forgetting and being forgotten?** ” _Winter has to admit that the desperate tone of his voice and the tears rolling down Callahan’s face are actually sort of moving. And then she realizes that she never moved back to her side of the couch, that she’s still lying on top of Qrow, drawn closer to him by the crackling intensity of the film, the colors, the tone, and now she’s starting to realize why he likes these old movies so much.

 And then Michael and Callahan are shoving, fighting, and then Michael is doubling over as the knife goes in after a wild stab, and Winter is left staring, horrified as the scene fades out on Callahan clutching Michael’s hand, telling him he’s sorry, telling him to stay alive. Qrow notices her shock, grins. “I told you _The Demonized_ was a classic.” He drawls. Winter can’t help but notice that he hasn’t made any attempt to lift her off of him. And then something even more shocking than the previous scene happens; he slips an arm around her waist and pulls her a little closer.

 Winter feels herself flush slightly from the heat of him as she makes a noise of surprise, but laying with him is… Unexpectedly comfortable. She settles into him and rolls onto her side, glancing down at Qrow, who is currently staring up at her, frozen. For a moment their eyes are locked together, and she can’t help but smile as she notices all the same features she was trying to ignore this morning.

 He is quite handsome. There’s no use telling herself otherwise anymore. Not that he needs to know that.

 “Well?” She says, her impatient tone making Qrow break out into a grin. “Hit play! I want to see how it ends!”

* * *

 

 Qrow has never found Winter Schnee more attractive than at this moment.

 Right now she’s busy polishing off a considerable glass of Atlesian beer, white hair flowing behind her and leaving him free to admire the classy, well-fitted shirt and pants she’s wearing, the way her scarf as slipped to show the curve of her neck and collarbone. He likes seeing her out of uniform, she looks damn good in civilian clothes, genuinely beautiful, while in her uniform she just looks exceptionally fuckable.

 Maybe he should be worried about using words like “beautiful” for a stuck-up Atlas Specialist who he usually just shares mornings after and nights before with. Whatever. He’s always been a ‘go with the flow’ kind of guy, and he doesn’t really worry all that much about labels.

 And as Winter sets the now-empty glass down and puffs for air, slightly breathless, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes alight with excitement, Qrow has to admit that “beautiful” is a very fitting label. He never knew watching her chug half a pint of beer would help him see the more attractive side of her. Hell, he once thought he’d never watch her chug any sort of beverage, period. Winter Schnee is not the type of person you’d expect to be doing this sort of thing.

 But you’d also never expect that prim, proper Atlas would have a place like this; the _Konigsbierhalle_ , a riot of noise, laughter and music as locals throng the massive establishment. Simply calling it a pub doesn’t do it justice; a vast space with two floors, an outdoor courtyard and three interlinked halls hewn from stout oak and centuries-old stone, all devoted to the consumption of Atlas’, formerly Mantle’s, finest alcohol.

 “Explain it to me again!” he asks, speaking loudly to be heard over the noise of the patrons. “Why does everyone in Atlas gather here and get tanked _today specifically? I though you guys were all stuck-up prudes!”_ Winter rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless. She looks pretty when she smiles, too. Not in a seductive way or anything like that, just a genuine, happy smile. Shit, he’s getting distracted.

 “It’s not just at _this_ beer-hall.” Winter replies. “There are beer halls all over Atlas, and the rest of Mantle too. Nearly every settlement has them, as a place for people to get together after a long day of work. The Konigsbierhalle is just special to today, and it’s a very important part of Mantle’s history.” She seems genuinely excited, and Qrow has to admit that it’s nice to see her passionate about something, even if she is a nerd.

 “So I take it they closed them down during the Great War, right? With all the drinking songs and rowdiness and everything?” he asks. To his surprise, Winter shakes her head. “The government thought it improved social cohesion, so they let them stay at first, but as the war went on they started trying to silence drinking songs and keep these places quiet. Eventually, just after the Vacuo Campaign, a whole battalion of the survivors of Eiche’s 5th Army were in the Konigshalle when they heard that the King of Mantle had intended to keep fighting despite casualties, and they started singing a rather insulting drinking song in protest. Then that turned into singing a song for their fallen comrades, then the civilians joined in, until the Secret Police tried to arrest the people leading the song. The soldiers and citizens were so angry that they just sang all the louder, and eventually someone got the crowd moving to the King’s palace. The leader of the survivors took control and forced the king to abdicate, and to celebrate everyone got drunk and sang and danced and did all the things they hadn’t been allowed to do.”

 “So every year on the anniversary you go out to your local beer hall and get drunk?” Qrow asks, feeling like he’s starting to like Atlas a lot more than he used to. Winter nods in reply. “Families just have a meal and do some dancing, but adults- _especially_ the army- consider it their civic duty to get drunk. Speaking of which-“ Qrow jumps slightly as Winter begins slamming her mug on the table to a certain rhythm, smiling as the surrounding tables, and eventually Qrow, join in. She starts to sing with a beautiful voice, rising high above the rest, and though he lacks much command of the language of Old Mantle he can definitely discern frequent mentions of alcohol and the damage that will ensue to herself and others if she doesn’t get some now. He has heard her sing before, but he likes this song the best.

He takes another pull of his beer, finishing right as the waitress gets there and swiftly replaces their empty mugs. Winter gives him a smile as they clink glasses and take a swig. The beer’s good, golden and strong, and he happily polishes off a substantial portion of his glass. The Ice Queen surprises him when she actually downs _more than him_ in one go. Winter can keep up with him, sure, but she usually paces herself when she drinks. Not today, apparently.

 “Really goin’ for it tonight, aren’t you, Ice Queen?” he asks. She throws him one of her usual scowls, which he finds more attractive than is probably good for his health. “For your information, I haven’t drank like this since I was a cadet.” She says. Now _there’_ s a story he’s interested in hearing. “Oh yeah? What exactly happened when you were a cadet?”

 Now she looks slightly bashful, nervously brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It wasn’t that bad. Really.” That kind of look combined with that reply only makes him go in for the kill. “Then if you tell me about it, it won’t be a big deal, right?”

 She’s trapped herself now, and she knows it. _Too easy._ “W-well…” she stammers. “It was my first year in the cadets, and one of my friends smuggled in a whole bunch of beer and liquor, and dared me to prove I wasn’t a “spoiled, uptight daddy’s girl.” So I drank something like ten beers and more shots than I could count, and made an absolute mess of myself. That morning, at roll-call, Drill Sergeant Daisy noticed how bleary my eyes were and started chewing me out, and combined with my headache the noise was killing me…” She trails off, nervously curling a lock of hair around her finger. He smiles and leans forward. This is _absolutely_ too much fun. “Go on…”

 “I couldn’t handle it, so I just dropped to my knees and threw up all over her boots.” She says. He’s grinning ear-to-ear now. “And then… Well, I was so hungover I wasn’t thinking straight… She’d gone silent out of shock, and I said…” Another pause. He leans forward, prompting her to speak. “I said ‘ _Oh thank God, you stopped talking.’_ ”

 That is simply _too good_. He starts laughing so hard he’s amazed he doesn’t fall out of the booth they’re sharing, until he’s breathless. Winter seems very interested in the surface of the table. “Sergeant Daisy made the whole unit do suicides until we all puked. And then _she_ took _my boots_ one night and puked on _them_.” Qrow is halfway through a swig and almost chokes on his beer. “ _What?_ ” Winter just nods. “That woman was absolutely insane. I mean completely off her damn rocker.”

 He laughs again, a little quieter this time, and Winter can’t help but join in. He likes it when she laughs. He likes it a lot.

  _Woah. Easy there, buddy_.

 He does his best to shake off the thoughts that stick in his head, of her laying on top of him as they watched one of the greatest movies of all time, the feeling of being pressed close against her back when some weird part of his brain made him stand up and tuck her hair behind her ear, how much he likes her smile and her laughter and how she sings drinking songs with lyrics he can’t pronounce, and not in the usual _hey-I’d-hit-that_ way or the _hey-I’d-hit-that-repeatedly_ thing that he and Winter have going. This is something different. And he might be a go-with-the-flow kind of guy, but this is something he really feels he ought to stop and consider.

 And then a nudge on his shoulder reminds him that he’s talking with Winter _right now_ and he should really close his mouth and stop staring at her and maybe have another swig of his beer because _holy shit_ it got hot in here all of a sudden.

  “Are you okay? You zoned out for a moment.” Another sly smile erases her look of concern. “Were you having another bird dream?” He knows that with the thoughts that are racing through his head right now he’ll only zone out again if he looks her in the eye, so his eyes wander down to her collarbone and the silver necklace dangling just above it. And now he’s smiling, because he’s just come up with an out and a way to be _smooth as hell_ at the same time. “Yeah, actually.” He says. “I had another dream where there was something _shiny_ -“ he leans across the table and lightly grasps her silver pendant, savoring the look of surprise in her eyes, and then grabs the pendant tightly and pulls her closer until they are just an inch apart. “- _right in front of me-“_ and then he stops, because he realizes that the _Konigshalle_ has gone almost totally silent.

 For a moment, he thinks that the entire bar has stopped to watch this truly _masterful_ act of seduction. Until he realizes that they’re all looking down the end of the bar, where a few drinkers wearing old Mantle army uniforms hold their mugs aloft. Winter picks up hers, then grabs the hand on her necklace, folds his fingers around the handle of his mug and raises it aloft. _Pushy._ She looks slightly flustered, though, which only makes him grin wider. He’s still got it.

 And then the drinkers in Mantle uniforms begin to slam their mugs on the table, softly at first, but then louder and louder as the bar joins in. He sees Winter shrug on her coat and pull up her scarf, decides to follow her lead, and all of a sudden one of the men in uniform begins shouting a word. _“Freiheit!”_ he cries, his compatriots join in, and suddenly the bar is shouting the word in a chorus, Winter shouting it right alongside them, and then as if at one prearranged symbol the drinkers leap to their feet and rush for the doors. Winter hauls him to his feet, keeping a tight grip on his arm as they surge with the crowd, his other hand still wrapped around his beer because he’s not wasting perfectly good booze.

 For a moment he stumbles after Winter through the heat and momentum of the crowd until they spill out onto the street with the other drinkers, who as one turn and head in what he thinks is the direction of the old Royal Palace.

 Winter looks back over her shoulder at him, smiling wide and laughing, her eyes full of light, cheeks flushed against the cold, the moonlight shining on hair every bit as white as the snow that falls around him, creating the illusion that her hair is strands of woven silver, gleaming like the pendant around her neck.

 So maybe he’s a bit of a poet when he gets sentimental. Sue him.

 But he’s also got an eye for opportunity, and he sees a shadowy alcove in a stone wall coming up on him, and realizes that he’s not the kind of guy to hold himself back because of a few concerns, that’s Winter’s thing.

 So as they pass the alcove he practically scoops her up with one hand, steps into the shadow and kisses her for a long, long time, seeing her bright blue eyes open wide in surprise, and waits until she pushes him away.

 Only for her eyes to soften, and then close altogether as she wraps her arms around him and pulls him closer. This is good. He should probably stop now though. Maybe breathe. Breathing is important. Reluctantly, he breaks away, sucks down a lungful of cold winter air, then returns to her, pressing his lips to her collarbone, savoring the way her breath hitches in her lungs.

 “Qrow… I’m flattered, but… why?” she asks him. It’s disappointing that the can still speak in complete sentences. He does his best to fix that, and by the sound of it he’s succeeding. Eventually he comes up for air again, looking at her face, flushed and eager and unspeakably attractive.

 And then comes the problem with going with the flow. Sometimes things slip out that he doesn’t mean to say. Like when he returns to kissing her neck, a little higher than last time, and whispers “You’re beautiful” before he can register the intent and keep his mouth shut. Or at least, occupied in other ways.

 Winter stiffens against him, and he sighs and lets his head drop. _Well done, Qrow. Really. First-class idea._ He braces for a slap, for a fight, or at least a series of awkward questions, followed by the end of this arrangement of theirs.

 Instead, she laughs, light and airy, and he feels his own spirits lift with it as he returns to her neck. She lets out a contented sigh and seems to melt into his arms.

 “You’re not so bad yourself.” She mutters, and he can’t help but laugh as she wraps a leg around him, bringing them closer.

What can he say? _Smooth as hell._

* * *

 

 They’re back in Qrow’s house in Patch, and Winter’s still waiting on the part where they head up to his bedroom, but it’s coming up on 1:00 in the morning and instead they’re once more curled up on the couch, watching another gangster movie, this one set in Menagerie. She had balked at the idea of watching the same sort of film twice, but Qrow had reassured her as he filled two bowls of popcorn that “ _From The Zoo_ is completely different. Trust me.”

 He seems to be telling the truth, the movie’s plot and message are significantly different to her untrained eye, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t distracted by being this close to Qrow. She reaches down for another handful of popcorn, brushing against his chest on the way, thinking about the feeling of his arms around her.

 And how it doesn’t feel that bad, really. It feels nice, being close to him. Relaxing. Actually, that sums up the whole night. They’d only had a few beers between them when they met up at the bar, and when they’d gotten to Qrow’s home neither of them were too eager to jump into bed, so she’d just sat at the counter with him, talking about Weiss and Yang and Ruby, trading stories from their time in school, until Qrow had suggested a movie.

 And curse her over-analytical mind, but this only leaves Winter asking herself questions. _Does this feel as good as when we were having one-night stands?_ It does, actually. It feels good to just relax, watch a movie and talk with Qrow, laugh at his jokes in spite of herself, discretely admire his looks, and there’s usually still sex afterwards but tonight might be an exception.

 And she’s okay with that too.

 Now _that’s_ a scary thought, because the whole point of this was originally the fact that they were compatible in the sack, and if there’s more than that the whole tone changes. Or does it?

 No. Now she’s overreacting. There is an easy way to find this out. All she has to do is look down and then…

 Qrow seems very surprised when she presses her lips to his, running a hand through his tangle of black hair as she moves her hand to cup his cheek. It feels good, she decides, different from what they’ve done before. But eventually she is forced to break apart from him to breathe in, and that means she has to say something.

 “Hey.”

 A truly masterful opening, if she says so herself. She’s surprised Qrow hasn’t fallen at her feet already.

 “Um.” Qrow replies, which at least does something to soothe the sting of her botched opening. “Hey to you too. Why did you- actually, lemme pause, I don’t want you to miss too much of the film.” She rolls her eyes when he turns to reach for the remote, but eventually comes up with a decent opener.

 “This has been a lot of fun.” She says. “I know it’s not what we usually do, but it’s enjoyable to just relax and watch a movie with you. To be… Well, to be close to you in general.” She says, feeling the tension in her stomach as she watches his reaction. Qrow just nods. “Okay.” He says.

 Well, that’s not a negative response, at least. She decides to press on. “And this isn’t the first time we’ve done this sort of thing; you spent the day at my apartment, our moment at Armistice Day… This kind of thing has been happening more and more frequently, and it’s gotten easier. I mean, I remember when I could barely spend a few hours in the same place as you without going insane. And you felt the same way!” she says, once again watching Qrow’s reaction. He nods. “Right.”

 “And I just feel like we’ve been finding each other attractive in ways we haven’t before, you know? Like how you called me beautiful, and I’ve started thinking you’re pretty handsome, and we’ve even started to enjoy each other’s senses of humor. Occasionally, anyway.”

“Sure.” Qrow replies. Winter’s not going to lie, this is starting to get frustrating.

 “Anyway, I’m just trying to make the point that I think both of us would be okay with all of this actually… _Going somewhere_ , you know? I mean, I know _I_ feel that way, that I want to try more stuff like this and just… See where it goes. And if we don’t like it, we can backtrack, but maybe we can give it a try.”

 This time she’s met with a silent nod, barely biting back a growl of frustration.

 “Look, it doesn’t have to be an actual ‘relationship’ because we’re both busy and neither of us have any time to set anything in stone, but we can just have…” she searches in vain for the right word, but gives up and rests her head on Qrow’s shoulder with a sigh. “A _thing_ , I don’t know. A truce, a partnership, whatever you want to call it. Does that sound good?”

 Before he can open his mouth she shoots him a glare. “If you don’t give me a proper answer I swear I will throw you through the upstairs window.” He waits for a moment, seems to consider his words.

And then he pulls her down and kisses her. For a moment she can’t breathe, although the feeling of being pressed together like this is wonderful, and she can’t help but groan in protest a little when he pulls away.

 “Fine.” He says. “I agree with basically everything you just said, so next time we’re free I’ll actually take you to dinner. A nice one, too, not like that time I made the taxi driver stop for burgers. Alright?”

 “Sure.” She says, impulsively leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Let’s do that.” She feels as though a weight has been taken off her shoulders, smiling despite herself as she watches Qrow fumble for the remote, constrained by the way she rests on top of him.

 “Alright. Now let’s cement this _thing_ of ours by finishing _From The Zoo_.” She rests a little closer to him, enjoying the film together until she feels herself drifting off to sleep, lulled by a combination of tiredness, the sounds of the movie and the steady rise and fall of Qrow’s chest.

 Gunshots, screams and various obscenities are not the most conventional soundtrack for a developing relationship, but even Winter cannot deny that it’s somewhat appropriate for her and Qrow.

 It’s both humorous and maybe a little bit worrying.

 But Winter wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Woah, this took about a full day of sustained work, but I finally got it done. I'll admit I wasn't quite sure how to end it, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. If I'm not mistaken this is a good deal larger than The First and Only Time so I hope you can understand why it took so long to find inspiration for this.
> 
> Speaking of inspiration, the positive response The First and Only Time received really helped me to continue the series, so please let me know if you liked the story, if you didn't like it, what you enjoyed, what you didn't, and ideas to continue this. Reviewing's free, folks. Anonymous. You don't need an account. It won't cost you a dime. I'm begging you here.
> 
> Oh, and just so you know, the movies Qrow's watching are based on classic flicks like The Godfather and Goodfellas. The gang in The Demonized is based on a typical Irish-American organized crime gang, and I guess would have some story beats similar to Heat or something, while From the Zoo is basically Boyz in the Hood. From Da Zoo is also the name of a real New York street gang, and it seemed appropriate for Faunus organized crime. There's also a Remnant version of Goodfellas. Maybe we'll see that next chapter. Whenever that is.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Maple


End file.
